False Dichotomy
by Rhetorical irony
Summary: "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions." A botched mission. A spy. A feud ten years in the making. As the desperate search for answers takes them down a circuitous route, dredging up skeletons of the past, both the Black Order and the Noah Clan come to realize that for some of them, it may be a path of no return. (Mafia!AU, fem!Allen)
1. Prologue

Prologue

 _Her only memory of before was of falling._

 _She remembered the wind and the earth beneath her touch. The way the grass tangled beneath her hands and legs, driven into the soil under her weight. The way the trees wound around themselves, thrusting out of the earth like desperate fingers reaching for the skies, branches unfurled and straining up, up. Far above her hung a rounded cut-out of sky, crowned by a circle of canopy tops._

 _Nightfall settled on her shoulders like a worn cloak. She drew it close to her, closer, then closer still, as if taking refuge from the cold._

 _She liked to think that she was not afraid, even when a_ _foreign presence decided to make itself known, melting out of the darkness to take on flesh and form. Fingers longer than hers landed on her shoulders, curling around her flesh. The sensation gave her pause, made her skin crawl._

 _Not afraid._

 _"You're here to take me away, aren't you? Because she's the principal initiate. And I hurt her."_

 _He did not reply._

 _She kept her eyes resolutely on the night sky. Clear skies, cloudless, thick with clusters of stars that winked down at her. A full moon, pristine and undisturbed._

 _"I didn't know. I didn't know it was her. If I had known —"_

 _A sharp pain at the nape of her neck. The ground rushing up to meet her face. The quiet sense of something lost._

 _Darkness overtook her, and she knew no more._


	2. Chapter 1: Liminality

**Author's Note: Before anyone asks, I swear, I have a perfectly legitimate reason for making Allen a girl here.**

 **Having said that, I just want to say that if anyone would like to discuss D Gray, feel free to hit me up anytime. I am** ** _always_** **in the mood for D Gray XD**

Chapter 1: Liminality

He turned a corner and promptly came upon a hallway choked with bodies, too still and almost certainly all dead.

Well. He had barely reached the scene, and mission integrity had already been compromised.

 _Fucking brat_ , he thought, and could not suppress the scowl that overtook his countenance.

Komui had told him that it was a routine investigation, to be undertaken and completed while undercover. A covert one-man mission. In and out. No one was supposed to get hurt, and certainly nobody was supposed to die.

Even the brat could not screw up something as simple as that.

But apparently Komui was full of shit, and Kanda was right not to listen to him.

Unfortunately, it also meant that things had to be taken up a few notches, and that this mission promised to be a complete pain in the ass. One of the few times he got to feel validated about rubbing it in Komui's face, and of course it had to be for a reason like this.

His steps when he strode forward were kept deliberately measured, even, purposeful. He averted his gaze from the bodies, so carelessly discarded, left to decorate the hallway like burlap sacks stuffed to bursting, leaking offal.

All these people, rounded up for disposal like lambs to the slaughter. As if she had not even bothered to look them in the eyes before gunning them down.

It was unsettling.

Beneath his coat, his fingers tightened marginally on the hilt of a blade, tucked into its sheath on his belt.

Something at the corner of his eye snagged his attention. He turned briefly towards it, and noticed the off-centre hole still leaking blood in the base of the dead man's throat. In his mind's eye, he could almost see what had happened: Bastard tried to creep up from behind, and swallowed lead for his efforts.

Too sudden, flashy. Careless. They might as well have scrawled their names across the walls with blood and been done with it.

His instincts roared at him. His fist tightened in the folds of his coat.

Words would be had when he found her.

The nearer he drew to the end of the corridor, the more mistakes he noticed. Broken shards of glass lining the corridor, empty window frames from which the bullets must have ricocheted. Spent shells scattered in clusters that meant she had needed more than one shot to take an opponent down. And, almost at the end, an empty magazine, and the gun it had been removed from. He picked it up, scowled, and pocketed it.

Brat was getting far too sloppy. And sloppy assassins were dead assassins.

His footsteps quickened to an almost run, thudding down the rest of the corridor. There could only be one reason for her apparent loss of control.

Only ever one reason, even if it was not one any of them understood.

In that moment, Kanda knew that Komui must have fucked up. Strange it was, because Komui had never been known to fuck up when it came to reconnaissance, but Kanda figured that everyone had to start somewhere.

The corridor split into two. A trail of blood, bright red drops stark against the grime, marked his quarry's path down the left wing. He turned on his heel, so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash, and made haste to follow.

It came when he least expected it: Tell-tale ringing sounds that spoke of bullets missing their mark, washing over him with the force of a hurricane, rending the suffocating silence asunder.

His heart pounded. Blood roared in his ears. His eyes landed on a closed door, nondescript, located at the end of the corridor.

His strides lengthened into a headlong run.

The scraping sound the door made grated on his nerves, but he knew that noise did not matter anymore, as long as he had speed. They never had the element of surprise to begin with. The game was up before it started, because the fucking brat decided to throw herself off the deep end by shooting everyone's eyes in.

Something glinted at the corner of his eyes, almost out of sight, and he dropped into a roll on instinct. Sizzling hot metal grazed his ear, and warmth trickled down the side of his face. He did not even flinch.

In revenge, he withdrew the blade he had been palming under the folds of his coat, the rough hilt almost comforting under his fingers, the familiar weight perfectly balanced in his grip, and threw it at his opponent. He heard it the moment his blade hit the mark, the decisive _thuck_ sound as human flesh gave way beneath the force of his throw. Cold metal slid in with barely any resistance, and the nameless person who had dared to turn the barrel of his gun on him dropped backwards, knife buried to the hilt in his chest.

Deranged laughter, followed by a soft clapping sound, forced his attention away from the corpse on the ground. His gaze alighted upon a diminutive girl dressed in a diaphanous shift that reached down to her knees. Untamed bangs framed an elfin face with wide-set eyes, gleaming with maniacal delight.

There was only one person who matched the description. And after their previous altercations, all he could summon was numb resignation.

Road Camelot. Fallen angel, demon child, whose touch promised to blight the land. Anyone standing in her way would burn.

He drew further into the room, keenly aware of the fact that he might have just signed his own death warrant. Kneeled down, wrapped one hand around the handle of his blade, gave it a vicious tug. The knife came away into his hand with a soft sucking sound. Blood sluiced over his boots. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the monster in the far end of the room.

"Kanda, is it?" Her grin was raw, a gaping slash that sliced her face into halves. "Kanda Yuu. Partner to Allen Walker."

At the mention of her name, Kanda's eyes snapped to the only other girl in the crowd. Flyaway hair the colour of bleached bone, pale gray eyes that burnt with hellfire, teeth bared into a snarl. Her aura was drenched in bloodlust, her muscles tense with anticipation.

"I expected no less of you. You were her mentor once," Road ploughed on blithely, blatantly ignoring the white-haired girl beside her. "And you didn't disappoint! Your reputation precedes you, but even so, I had to see for myself what sort of person Allen's mentor was like."

His eyes narrowed on Allen's form, gaze flinty. She was on her knees, hands tied behind her back with thick hemp rope. Flanking her were two unknowns, one on each side, each holding a gun trained on either side on her head.

Down for the count, then.

"Hey, Kanda, you play with Allen. Won't you play with me too?"

A soft chiming sound drifted down from somewhere above his head. Kanda's gaze flickered upwards, drawn by instinct, only to be greeted by the face of an ancient clock. Dusty glass face, hour hand almost to five and minute hand to twelve, second hand just about ready to start the next revolution.

"It's a simple game. You have five seconds to make it to this end of the room. If you win, Allen goes with you. If I win, she stays with me."

 _She isn't bloody collateral for your farce of a game_ , were the words that he really wanted to say, but that was her hand on the trigger, her guns pressed to Allen's head, and he had to force himself to swallow his anger. "And if I should choose to forfeit?" His voice was even, hinting at a control that he did not feel.

"Then it would be a walkover," Road hummed, as if she was trying to pacify a fractious child. "I like you, Kanda, but fair is fair."

It was nothing he had not expected. He gripped his knife tighter, drew it closer to his body.

"Five," Road sang, as the bell began to toll.

Allen's snarl deepened.

Kanda darted forward before he realised what he was doing. His weapon of choice offered him immense flexibility and manoeuvrability, but only if he could get in close enough.

Shouts. Scuffling sounds, booted feet racing towards him, guns raised to chest level.

Amateurs.

"Four."

Blade to the throat, cutting to the quick, drawing first blood. The light left his opponent's eyes as his face slackened. He yanked the knife back out. Ducked beneath the falling body, propping it up with a shoulder so that he could use it as a shield against the other goons while he closed the gap between them.

Bullets slammed into flesh, and blood that was not his dripped onto his forehead, matting his fringe. He barely glanced at the gun on the floor. With one hand, he found the loop of the man's belt, and traced its length until his fingers happened upon uneven, polished metal.

He removed the gun, threw it to the floor and gave it a hard kick, sending it spinning off in the other direction. One less weapon that could be retrieved and turned against him.

Maybe it was overkill, disarming a dead man, but he did not believe in taking any chances. Insurance was insurance, and outnumbered as he was, every little bit counted.

"Three."

As soon as he was close enough, he threw the body off. Startled yells followed, as the unexpected weight took one down to the dirty concrete floor, dead weight pinning him in place. With his blade he aimed for the heart, and was rewarded with stillness.

Quick as a flash, he reached back under his coat. His fingers drew level with his belt, and the next blade in his repertoire slid soundlessly out from its sheath.

"Two."

Something moved at the corner of his eye. He did not have to focus on it to know that it was a gun trained on him. Shit!

He threw himself sideways, knowing that it was too late to avoid the blow completely, and readied himself for the impact. White-hot pain lanced through him as a bullet clipped him in the side, tunnelled under his skin, tore through flesh and muscle before exiting a little ways to the back.

A flesh wound then. It would bleed, but it missed his vital organs, and that was enough for him.

Pain sharpened his focus, strengthened his blows. He forced his body through the motions. Faster, faster. His hand reached back into the folds of his coat, the third blade sliding soundlessly into place between his fingers.

Light glinted off the wickedly sharp blade as he swung, slicing swiftly through the air, coming to a jarring stop when it bit into flesh, tasting blood and digging deep. His opponent was dead before he hit the ground.

"One."

Indignant spluttering came from the fourth man, who had moved to take the place of his fallen friend. Face red with anger, spittle flying, gun shaking in his trembling grip. Anger made him reckless; fear shackled his feet and made him slow. Kanda knew that he had nothing to worry about.

As if on instinct, Kanda ducked beneath the gun, surged forward, and dropped the man with a well-placed knife between his ribs. Perceived a malicious presence bearing down on him from behind, and immediately followed up with a back kick.

From behind him came the crisp, clear sound of bone cracking beneath the force of his boot. He spun on his heel, met his next opponent face to face, and revelled in the terror clouding his opponent's eyes.

"Monster," the man managed to choke out, with all of the loathing he could muster.

It slid off his skin like water off the petals of a flower. Bastard fought dirty, tried to sneak up on him while his back was turned. Kanda had no patience for fools and charlatans. He was rage incarnate, descending upon his opponents with claws and teeth.

"Zero."

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that he was out of time.

In one fluid motion, he clocked the fellow across the face with a well-aimed fist, putting enough force behind the blow to send him to the ground, dazed. Hooked his foot around the next man's ankle, tripping him and dropping him onto his companion. Withdrew the next two blades tucked into his belt, one in each hand, and ended them both simultaneously by slitting their throats. Felt his blades catching on cartilage before he pulled them free, their mirror-smooth surfaces tainted with an angry red colour that gleamed sickly under the dim fluorescent lights.

Warm spurts of blood hit the lapels of his coat, ran over the exposed skin of his fingers, dyeing them a sticky carnelian.

Kanda lifted his head in time to see Road crouch down— far too close —beside Allen, her lips curled upwards in a cruel smile. Slowly, deliberately, she tilted her head, such that her lips ghosted the shell of Allen's ear. Then she lifted her gaze, met his eyes from across the room, and the corners of her lips wrung up in a mockery of a smile.

Even from so far away, he could see Allen stiffen against her binds, her back ramrod straight, her pale gray eyes glazing over, as if in a trance.

No. _No._ Like fuck he was losing her here.

"Idiot apprentice!" he snarled, and did the only thing he could. Dropping one of the knives, he shoved his hand into his pocket. His fingers curled around the familiar grip of her chosen weapon, and drew it out of his pocket in the same motion.

He aimed, then threw the gun as hard as he could, partly a force of habit, and partly to even the score because she fucking _owed_ him for pulling him into this godforsaken expedition. He took off without waiting to see if it would meet its mark — but he had faith in his aim. He rarely missed a target anymore.

It slammed into her side with a bruising crack, and she yelped, losing balance and toppling to her side. The fog cleared; her gaze snapped back into focus. He smirked, as one of the henchman behind her flinched, and took a half step back. Bad idea.

She took the opening he had given her, rolling away as the remaining barrel swivelled towards her, and brought one foot up to kick the gun away from her. The first henchman recovered, but screamed and dropped his gun when Kanda's blade found its mark, burrowing into his palm all the way up to the hilt.

In a flash, Road was beside her, gun wordlessly pressed to her temple. Allen's eyes widened, then narrowed, gunmetal gray blazing bright with anger.

With lightning-quick reflexes, Kanda's blade found itself poised against the side of her neck. From where he stood behind her, a little to her left, he could see a vein pulsating as it weaved through her temple.

Her pulse throbbed beneath his fingers, strong and holding steady. Unperturbed.

In return for his impertinence, the muzzle of a gun found its way to his temple, its touch cold as ice, leaching warmth from where it was pressed into his skin.

Road's laugh clawed out of her throat and tore through the air, a harsh, ugly sound that called to mind the image of nails scrapping the bottom of a barrel. The atmosphere gained crushing weight; the tension drew taut enough to cut with.

His knife bit into her skin as she shook with laughter, drawing a thin line of red. She paid it no mind.

"So rude. Barging into my territory without express permission, decimating my forces, pointing your blade at your host. No manners whatsoever."

"Let her go." Kanda was in no mood to play around.

"My, you're a sore loser, aren't you? But I'm willing to be generous." Her voice was light, still amused. "A pity it's over, though, that was a thrilling performance! I'll be wanting an encore."

She pressed a hand to Allen's face, her touch uncharacteristically gentle. Slender fingers cupped around a pale cheek, as if she was something precious to be protected. The white-haired girl faltered, confused, still angry.

"You _will_ come back to me, Allen. I know you will. And when you do, I will be here, waiting."

She made a motion with her fingers. Her last remaining henchman hesitated. She turned to him, eyes hard. He acquiesced reluctantly. A second later, the touch of cold metal left his temple.

Kanda scowled. Dropped his blade. Glared at his assigned partner, who seemed to deflate under his withering gaze.

Good. She knew what was coming to her.

Agonizingly slowly, Road moved her gun. Raised her hands in a show of mock surrender.

Kanda kept his eyes fixed on her, even as he slipped behind Allen, severing the ropes with a fierce tug. She winced, rubbed her wrists in an attempt to get her blood flowing again, her skin raw and red where the hemp had bitten into it. He picked up her gun from where it had fallen to the ground after he had thrown it at her, and wordlessly pressed it into her fingers. Hesitantly, she palmed it, and slipped it back into the empty holster by her hip.

Back to back, they crossed the diagonal of the room, towards a window by the side. As they passed the bodies, Allen turned and fixed her gaze on him. Lips pursed tightly, he gave her a short, sharp nod. He was in no position to do it himself, not when he had his hands full watching the viper in the room. She needed no further encouragement, stooping to work the blades free.

He took them from her with his left hand, gaze averted. With his right Kanda fingered the blade that had tasted Road's blood, eyes fixed on her slight form, expression defiant. If she decided to follow them, it would find its mark in her heart.

A clicking noise came to him from behind as the firing mechanism engaged. Piercing gunshots, as Allen shot the window in. Glass tinkled as the shards fell to the floor, turning a dusky red under the dying light of the sun.

She hopped onto the sill and pulled him up beside her, all of her attention fixed on Road. Kanda, for his part, did not have to look to know that they were on the fourth floor, and that it was a straight drop down into a river. From below them came the distinct sound of rushing water, and he prayed that the currents were not so strong as to overwhelm them.

Road's laughter followed them all the way down. Then there was only water as it rushed up to meet them, before it swallowed them whole.


	3. Chapter 2: Still Life

**Author's Note: To be very honest, this story should be considered an original story. It won't be obvious for a while yet, but these characters are not the same as their namesakes in canon personality wise. A good part of it is because, well, this is a mafia AU, plus I took a lot of liberties with their backstories (in a bid to make it fit into a real-world setting). And since they do not have the same experiences that they did in canon, I figured that it made sense to tweak their personalities accordingly. I apologize if this makes anyone feel uncomfortable, but it was a necessary evil in my opinion.**

 **I love chatting (bonus points since it's DGM), so feel free to chat me up! XD Reviews and critique would be greatly appreciated too :P**

Chapter 2: Still Life

"What," Lavi said carefully, "the fuck."

What the fuck indeed. Kanda would have laughed, if not for the fact that the brat looked dead on her feet, and he himself felt ready to drop. Sopping wet, hair clinging to their faces, blood seeping through his clothes. Between them, they must be a right spectacle.

The fact that Lavi looked absolutely gobsmacked, his expression vacillating rapidly between utter confusion and panic, was just the cherry on the cake.

Standing tall at six foot one, Lavi towered over most of the Order. With windswept red hair and mischievous green eyes that twinkled with roguish appeal, he stood out no matter the crowd. A prankster with a flair for theatrics, he was also sly, tenacious, and capable of being utterly ruthless. The fact that he seemed to think _Kanda_ was fun to mess with meant that the latter had no words for him at the best of times.

Having said that, even Kanda had to admit that the redhead had a few redeeming qualities. He was sagacious when he was not clowning around, with an eye for detail, good reflexes, and a disconcerting focus that made him very, very good at what he did. It also meant that he was not a complete waste of space, which counted for a lot in Kanda's eyes.

In fact, it was downright bizarre for Lavi, usually so discerning, to be thrown so far off balance. Kanda found himself savouring the moment with savage glee, despite the knowledge that it was at his expense. But that was before the reality of the pain caught up with the present, made his breath hitch in his throat, and wrenched him forcefully back on track.

"Go fetch the general," Kanda spat out from between clenched teeth, with no small amount of effort. His left hand was still clamped onto his side, bandaged clumsily with strips of cloth they had shredded from his shirt. It was the best they could do on such short notice. He could only take comfort in the fact that, at the very least, he still had his coat.

Lavi did not tease or quibble, all things he would have done usually. Simply sat them both down by the wall, bade them make themselves comfortable, before running like hell.

That was when Kanda realized just how bad they must look.

He did not take long. Footfalls resonated in the enclosed space, honing in on their location. The pace at which they were getting closer conveyed a persistent sense of urgency that echoed Kanda's own.

One look at the group that had turned the corner and were making a beeline for them had Kanda huffing, the tension that had hitherto knotted his muscles dissipating. The general was standing front and center, having taken his place at the head of the procession, followed closely by the redhead and several members of the infirmary staff.

Ginger must have picked them up on the way back.

Joy.

Komui Lee, otherwise known as the general, was the authority of the Black Order. Unfortunately, the title came with a penchant for dilettantism, and a reputation for being intractable. Most days, the only way Kanda could bring himself to deal with Komui was with equal measures of equanimity and resignation.

But on days — few and far between — when Kanda could bear to be honest with himself, he would grudgingly acknowledge that he trusted Komui to get things done. That when push came to shove, Komui _was_ capable of taking charge, usual shenanigans notwithstanding.

Standing before Kanda now, stalwart and militant, a stark contrast to his usual facade, Komui cut an imposing figure. "Kanda, what—"

"Either our mission was sabotaged, or somebody fucked up bad," Kanda cut him off viciously, pain giving his words bite. "Didn't help that this brat here went fucking ballistic."

Allen kept her lips tightly pursed and her eyes downcast. Even after everything, she was unrepentant. It made Kanda itch to slice her up a little.

Komui's frown deepened as he looked at Kanda askance. Kanda scowled, then gave him a sharp nod, "Road was there."

Road. Even her picture was enough to drive Allen to abandon all semblance of reason and control. Not for the first time, Kanda wondered what Allen had against her.

The air around them turned frigid. Lavi's expression was uncharacteristically grim when he spoke up next. "Is she...?"

"No. She escaped," Kanda snapped. He had no delusions about the way the fight had gone; Road, for whatever reason, had chosen to let them go. On a good day, they might have been able to hold their own against her, but in the state they were in, their only hope had been mercy. If she had truly wanted them dead, they would never have gotten out of that decrepit building.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember, because Road so rarely deigned to dirty her own hands, but once, many years ago, he had seen her fight with his own eyes. He knew just how deadly she was. Underestimating her would get them killed, and not in a merciful way.

One look at their stricken faces, and he knew that they understood what he had left unsaid. Then Komui pressed his right hand to his shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry. But I won't rest until I get to the bottom of this. This I promise you."

It was all he could offer, at this point in time. Kanda did not nod, but neither did he shrug his hand away.

"Whatever," he snorted.

* * *

The following morning found Lavi in the training room with Lenalee.

Lavi usually trained by himself because he liked the silence that came with it, but he also enjoyed training with Lenalee. His assigned partner was slender in frame and smaller than he was, but it also made her faster, and she had no qualms milking this advantage for all it was worth. It made fighting with her interesting, and there was nothing he liked more than a challenge.

But try as hard as he might, he was unable to summon even an ounce of his usual enthusiasm. The Order had just narrowly escaped losing two of their best. And he knew full well, as well as they did, that they only made it out because they had been allowed to.

They could have died. They _should_ have died. The real question was why they had not.

It hinted at ulterior motives, and none of them liked unknown quantities.

Something flashed in his mind's eye. The memory of another terrible night, long ago. The rain had been so heavy that it had overwhelmed the city's infrastructure, causing minor flooding in less equipped areas.

 _Crimson mist illuminated by lightning. Falling, falling, glittering like scattered rubies under the scant light that made it past the heavy opaque curtains. Viscous red liquid penning garish trails as it slid down pale skin._

He felt like a bystander, divorced from the present, watching himself fight from some distance away. He barely registered the fact when Lenalee made a fist, cocked it and let it fly, and by the time he had snapped out of his trance, it was already too late.

Contrary to appearances, Lenalee hit _hard._ Her fist slammed into his sternum with all the force of a hammer, and he doubled over, wheezing, dropping onto the padded ground like a marionette cut free from its strings.

"Lavi?" Lenalee crouched down beside him, eyes wide in astonishment, as if she could not believe that her punch had connected, "Lavi, are you okay?"

He coughed, winced, then smiled. Lenalee never pulled her punches. It was part of her charm.

He flashed her a cheeky grin and pressed his hand to the mat, tapping it twice, signaling his surrender. She relaxed in ardent relief.

Then he groaned, dropped back onto the mats, and contented himself with letting his attention drift. Face up, eyes on the fluorescent lights fixed to the ceiling. Beside him, he felt Lenalee do the same.

The silence between them was a companionable one.

As expected, Lenalee spoke up first. She always did.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

Lavi hesitated, debating the merits of telling her the truth, then decided that there was no point in hiding it. She was bound to find out anyway, one way or another.

"Kanda and Allen got back late yesterday. And... It was bad. Allen was all banged up. Kanda even had to get stitches. Imagine that." He forced himself to laugh. The sound of it was all wrong.

And then, because he could not continue stalling, "Road was there." Like an anvil dropped from mid-air, heralding despair. He felt almost hollowed-out.

"Road was there?" Lenalee asked, eyes wide with incredulity. "Wait, _Kanda_ was there? I thought Komui assigned the mission to Allen alone."

He froze. His heart skipped a beat. Bile rose to the back of his throat.

 _Komui had assigned the mission to Allen alone?_

It sounded like a bad joke. But Lenalee had no reason to lie.

His fists clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"Lavi?" Lenalee's tone was one of confused concern.

Lavi laughed. What came out was a dry, barking sound, wrung out of his throat with force. "He did. But you know what Kanda's like. He made his opinion about Komui's assignment perfectly clear, then grabbed his knives and put himself on the next train out of the city."

From beside him came the sound of chuckling. The mat vibrated pleasantly against his skin.

"Well, I'm glad they're back. Thanks for telling me," Lenalee murmured after a pause. Her eyes grave, fixed firmly on his, told him that she knew he was hiding something, but also that she understood, and would wait until he was willing to tell her.

There was not much that could be said after that. Conversation died down, consumed by contemplative silence.

 _It would be nice if we could just stay here like this_ , Lavi thought, relaxing and sinking further down into the mats. The padding was comfortable, and thick enough that he could not feel the hard marble floor beneath him. The early morning air was crisp, and brought with it a refreshing breeze. Lenalee's fingers were warm, lightly knocking against his.

Far away, on the other end of the room, the sun's rays spilled onto the floor, pooling on the marble like spools of warm golden thread.

"I think," he breathed, "that a bath is in order, followed by breakfast. How does that sound?"

"I think it sounds wonderful," Lenalee replied breezily.

She stood up first, dusted her pants off in case any dirt had gotten caught in the fabric, and held out a hand to him, eyes sparkling in the light of dawn.

He smiled, and reached up to take her hand.


	4. Chapter 3: Degrees of Separation

Chapter 3: Degrees of Separation

I want out.

 _Lights so bright that they hurt her eyes. The sound of running feet, pattering on the whitewashed marble floor. Her panicked reflection gazing up at her, eyes wild with fright._

They lied. They were never going to help me find him.

 _Her feet threatening to give out beneath her as she rounded another corner, her breath coming in rough gasps._

 _Vaguely, she heard shouts of frenzied excitement and the clomps of heavy, booted feet pounding on the floor from behind her, edging closer and closer. She felt the tremors through her shaking legs, her trembling arms, shooting all the way up her body._

You don't have to come with me.

 _Something heavy and hard grasped her shoulder roughly and she gasped, having felt something wrench beneath her skin. Uncontrolled sobs tore themselves out of her throat, and she struggled, fists swinging like an untamed animal, refusing to go down without a fight. She had to escape from this cursed place, find Mana..._

 _Mana._

 _The foreign weight that had but a moment ago threatened to bowl her over was suddenly lifted from her shoulders. She collapsed into a heap on the floor, face slack and eyes blank._

Run!

 _A strong voice issued from behind her, and hands once again rested themselves on her shoulders. But these hands were different. They were smaller, their touch infinitely gentler, pulling her up to the light instead of felling her. She knew that if she held them both up and pressed them together, palm to palm, their slender fingers would come up to the same length._

We match, _that person had said, once upon a time._

I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I got caught, despite the head start you gave me.

 _Hoarse, stretched out syllables slipped out from her lips in between nerve-wrecking sobs, missing words between words, and she felt so, so tired but she had to_ run _she had to_ escape—

It's okay. Everything will be alright. I'm here now, _the voice came again. There was a soothing quality to her words that buoyed her, gave her the strength to raise her head —_

 _Only to see Road smiling down at her._

"... prentice!"

Her eyelids felt heavy, too heavy to lift. It felt as if she was underwater, legs kicking and arms flailing as she struggled upwards, upwards, towards the light. Her head broke through the surface of the water —

"Idiot apprentice!"

Her eyes snapped wide open, and she bolted upright.

She regretted the action immediately. The sun's rays stabbed at her retinas viciously, making her eyes water. She winced, rubbed at them with one hand. Then she made the mistake of looking up.

Grey irises, still bleary with sleep, met stormy blue ones, and Allen found herself staring into the eyes of one Kanda Yuu.

He did not flinch away. She felt oddly small beneath his piercing, searching gaze, as if she was still his apprentice, and he had just reprimanded her after one of their practice duels —

The events from the day before came flooding back into her mind, slamming into her with all of the force of a whirlwind, leaving her winded and gasping for breath.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Folded her arms, sat up straighter.

"Can I help you?" her voice came out perfectly bland.

He did not back down. Continued staring at her, unperturbed and unblinking. It made her want to look away and squirm —

She did none of those things. Instead, she drew herself up to his eye level, so that she could return his stare with her own.

To her surprise, he looked away first. The light that filtered through the blinds gave his dark hair a tint of midnight blue, thrusting his profile into sharp relief.

"Never mind," he snorted.

Her hands clenched to fists, buried within the folds of the infirmary blankets. She wanted to scream in frustration.

"I know you disapprove. But Komui—"

"Komui fucked up, and he knows that this one is on him," he snapped.

It was as if water, in all of their combined weight, had broken through a dam with force. Her words came spilling out of her, her voice taut with barely concealed anger. "I could have handled it on my own."

"And you did such a fucking fine job of that," he sneered.

She snarled. Raised a fist and let it fly, willing it to connect, so that she could wipe the smirk off his smug face —

He caught her fist in mid-air. His grip was like iron. He squeezed, as if willing her to submit, or he would break her bones.

It would be a cold day in hell.

"I hate you," she spat.

His eyes widened marginally. Only for a second, and then it was gone, but she knew she had gone too far.

"Good to hear," he said placidly. He released her fist. It fell onto the blankets, limp.

 _No,_ she wanted to say, _I didn't mean it. Wait._

The words never made it past her lips.

He blinked slowly, face blank, eyes inscrutable. Then he stood up from the chair by her bed, retrieved his crutches, turned and left the room, stopping only to pull the door close behind him.

He did not look back.

* * *

"Komui," Kanda said, walking into the office without preamble. The fact that he was leaning heavily on his crutches detracted from the impact an unannounced entrance usually had, but in this case, he would take whatever he could get.

Komui looked up from the paperwork on his desk. Blinked once, then twice. Reached up to his nose with a finger, flicked his spectacles up, "What are you doing out of the infirmary?"

"The mission." Kanda ignored his question. The answer was not his to know.

Komui sighed. Closed his eyes, pinched his nose bridge. When he next opened them, there was only resignation.

"Close the door," he said, and Kanda frowned, before complying.

Komui almost never closed his door. Most of the Black Order operatives, barring Kanda, knew better than to charge in without prior notice. Even Lavi, who had clearance to disturb Komui as and when he needed to, rarely invoked this privilege.

At any rate, Komui was smarter than most people gave him credit for. He knew better than to carry out anything that was top-secret at his desk, where everyone and anyone could just walk in on him. Kanda could personally attest to this.

"I assume this is with regards to the mission." Kanda did not believe in beating about the bush.

"You would be right to assume so." Komui sighed, all traces of levity gone. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, Komui seemed to transform. An explosion of wrinkles bloomed around his eyes, exhaustion marring his expression. His form withered, turning almost frail.

It made Kanda uncomfortable. Bearing witness to people's moments of weakness always did.

"So it would seem," Komui ploughed on grimly, "that the mission folder had been tampered with."

Kanda's blood ran cold.

What, how, _who_?

"And you would know because?" were the words that eventually made it past his lips.

"What did you notice about the warehouse when you were there, Kanda?"

"What?" He hardly thought that would be relevant.

"Just answer the question."

The warehouse had seemed almost entirely abandoned. And no wonder, because the company it had belonged to had gone bankrupt, and ceased operations soon afterwards.

 _Like a ghost town, with all of the infrastructure still intact, missing only the inhabitants._ Gravel had crunched beneath his boot as he made his way through the corridors, following the blueprint of the building that he had memorised; line by line, every notch and divot on the paper, before he had burnt it. As per usual mission directives.

The narrow walkway opened up into a massive hall, occupied by machinery that gone rusty, having been left to gather dust for as long as they would stand. Foreboding skeletons, larger than life, casted long, inky shadows that stretched the entire length of the room. A wasteland of man-made parts. _A graveyard construction._

Boxes upon cardboard boxes, crumpled and carelessly strewn around. Kanda had given them a quick once-over, on the off-chance that they contained anything important. There was nothing but the lingering scent of mould and sodden cardboard. He had searched for labels, but they had either been peeled off, or were too faded for him make out anything useful.

Layers upon layers of yellowed tape. Dust that rubbed off onto his fingers in grimy streaks of black. Water dripping down from the banisters. Kanda had backed off soon enough.

"The factory belonged to Azra Imports," Komui said.

 _Azra Imports._ Kanda was consumed by a feeling of déjà vu. The name rang a distant bell, tolling long and hard, as it had when he had first cracked the cover of the mission folder. But there was nothing in the folder regarding the company beyond that first mention. Neither did Komui have anything of import to impart on that matter. So he had pushed it aside.

"I see you recognise the name," Komui said, satisfied. "They had filed for bankruptcy, and were bought up by Enja Holdings."

 _Enja Holdings._ That name, Kanda did remember.

"Enja holdings? _The_ Enja Holdings? The conglomerate?"

It was a little of an understatement. A major investment company headquartered in central London, with sweeping influence that extended past the borders of the city, they held claim to a diverse portfolio of stocks that gave them a hand in almost every sector, from pharmaceuticals to real estate. This had not always been the case, but the only company that had ever been able to stand toe-to-toe with them had been dissolved when the founders died.

"That very one." Komui nodded, satisfied.

It felt like a bad joke.

Kanda frowned. Azra Imports had been a relatively small, home-grown manufacturing company. They had done moderately well, but things went to shit when the financial crisis hit, and the company haemorrhaged money. They limped along as best as they could, but all that accomplished was to put the inevitable off. Eventually, the business folded, and the entire company went up for sale. Shares, factories, warehouses and all.

What would a major investment company like Enja Holdings want with Azra Imports?

Komui's hands were steepled when he spoke up next. "I know you know exactly what I'm driving at."

"So it's suspicious. But what has it got to do with the mission?" Kanda asked waspishly.

But even before he had finished speaking, there was a sudden spark of life, an idea flaring into being, all blurred out shapes and incoherent moving parts.

Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe it was all baseless paranoia, and they were reading too much into this.

But if it was not, if they were right...

 _It's not about Azra Imports_ , Kanda realised. _It's not about the why, but the who._

"Lavi," he surmised, looking to Komui for confirmation.

He nodded, expression pinched.

If they were right, then this whole matter went beyond a single mission. If they were right, the implications for the Order were grave.

In Kanda's mind, Lavi was a clown who liked to entertain using cheap tricks, often flippant, occasionally an airhead, and very much a fool. But he was also meticulous, and, if nothing else, driven. He would never have missed out such a crucial detail, not when it had to do with his entire reason for living, not when it was what drove him to join them in the first place.

In that space between words, something in the atmosphere shifted, gaining a semblance of definition, dawning gravity. Kanda had to force himself to keep his expression still and his muscles relaxed. The man that had up till then been sitting at his desk stood up, and Kanda locked eyes with the man he knew as the general.

"To date," – the general held up three fingers – "Only two people on this base should have any knowledge of this besides me.

"Lavi."

"And me," Kanda finished. The words tasted like ashes on his tongue.

"I hate to point fingers, but at this point in time, we have to consider the very real possibility that we may already have invited the enemy into our midst."

 **Author's Note: And so... With this chapter, the main part of the plot officially begins XD If anyone has any thoughts, I would love to hear about them either through PMs or reviews! :D**


	5. Chapter 4: A Crack in The Line

**Author's Note: Yayyyy I'm back, and with a new chapter! XD**

 **Anyway, as you guys have probably realized, I didn't use any of the canon nicknames in this story. Beansprout, Rabbit, you get what I mean. Reason being I didn't think they fit very well, given the characters' relationships with each other... which should become clearer with the next few chapters XD**

 **Now that that's out of the way, I hope everyone enjoys this new chapter! Also, is anyone else as excited as I am for the appearance of GENERAL KANDA?! I know it'll probably be a while yet, but I can't wait ahhhhhh XD**

Chapter 4: A Crack in the Line

"I'm pretty sure this counts as harassment," Lavi said.

Lavi's back was pressed against the door of an unused storage room, barely big enough for two people. Kanda had literally waylaid him in the middle of the corridor between his quarters and the training room, thrown the door open, herded him inside, then slammed the door shut with one of his crutches and backed him against it. The latch dug painfully into his side. The wood was hard, the splinters scraping unpleasantly against the fabric of his clothes, and the angle at which Kanda's crutch jabbed into his abdomen ungainly and uncomfortable.

"I don't give a fuck, ginger," Kanda snapped.

The height difference between them was not huge. But it made things almost unbearably awkward when he was the one trying to corner him, and yet the redhead had to angle his gaze downwards to meet his eyes.

"Now that's just hurtful, Kanda." the intensity of his cutting green eyes was at odds with his lopsided smile.

"And now you're just playing the fool." Kanda was in no mood for jokes.

The smile vanished. The redhead stilled, eyes narrowed.

"This had better be good." Lavi's voice was flat.

"For a given definition of good," Kanda growled. And then, because he had always been better at expressing himself with actions than words, he lowered his crutches and reached for the manila packet tucked into his coat. The sound of crinkling paper was almost too loud for the small space.

Lavi took it from his hand, and turned to the first page. He squinted — the small, angular font made for difficult reading in the dim light — and raised an eyebrow in consternation.

"Why are you showing me this? I already know all of it."

Even so, he commenced flipping through the pages, giving each a quick onceover. Reached the end of the file. Started again from the beginning, but slower this time, a frown knitted between his eyebrows.

Kanda folded his arms and leaned back against the wall on the opposite side of the redhead, waiting for the eventual verdict. Not because he did not already know what he was going to say — he did, for a fact — but because he needed to hear the words from the redhead himself. He could feel a headache starting up behind his eyes. His day had already gone to shit, and he had not even had breakfast yet.

"It's gone." the confused look was back, and in force. "But I could have sworn —"

"We know," Kanda interrupted, because his sympathy had gone the way of his patience. "Any clue how this might have happened?"

The redhead's lips were drawn into a thin line, tight with tension.

"It explains why Komui sent Allen out alone. I didn't know, until Lenalee told me yesterday. I'll... I'll have to look into it." Lavi grimaced. "But, Kanda... Kanda, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know."

"You couldn't have." Kanda's voice was strained, barely above a murmur, but Lavi knew that he was already forgiven. "You weren't here."

That was also true. Lavi had been away on a mission of his own. By the time he had gotten back, Kanda had already left for the train station.

Green eyes flashed in the dim light. Kanda's dark blue eyes were hooded, almost black, in the dim light.

"You don't think," Lavi started, when Kanda suddenly lunged forward, slapping a hand over his mouth.

"Quiet," he hissed into his ear. His arm hung loosely by his side, his index finger pointing downwards at the floor.

Lavi's eyes flickered downwards, following the direction of his finger. Scant light filtered into the room from beneath the door. And then something shifted, and he realized that there was someone standing right outside the door, blocking out part of the light.

Waiting.

The silence writhing in the claustrophobic space between them was a terrible thing to behold.

"Kanda?" a soft voice filtered in through the gap.

In front of him, Kanda scowled, pushed him out of the way and threw the door open with a bang. Lavi winced. Poor, abused door hinges. They were no match for Kanda's wrath.

"Idiot apprentice," he snapped.

"No longer an apprentice," Allen snapped back instinctively. And then something suspiciously like guilt crossed her face, creasing her features, and the girl dropped her gaze. Shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

"I'm sorry," she started. "I was just passing by, when I heard your voice. Why were you guys hiding in there?" Her nose wrinkled. "It's dusty. And small."

"None of your fucking business." There it was. Kanda's favourite line.

Allen looked distinctly annoyed. Opened her mouth as if to reply. Closed it again.

It was Lavi's cue to leave. "You know what, I'll leave you both to it. Lenalee's waiting for me in the training room, and I'm already late." He scratched the back of his head with one hand, then raised a hand to his forehead in mock salute.

Allen turned to him, a soft smile on her lips. The white-haired girl was wearing the infirmary blanket around her shoulders, one hand bunched in the fabric, drawing it close just below her collarbones. The swelling around her left eye had gone down, and although the bruise was still visible, it had faded from the alarming almost-black of the first day to an even purplish blue around the rims of her eye.

Kanda stood a little ways behind her. Their eyes met, cut-glass green to royal blue, and Kanda gave him a sharp, almost imperceptible nod. Lavi felt a fleeting sense of pity, but knew that it was not his place to stay.

The redhead bid them farewell, and jogged off in the direction of the training room.

* * *

Allen fiddled with the blanket she had slung haphazardly around her shoulders.

In front of her was Kanda, whose strides were clearly unimpeded by the use of crutches. Allen swallowed nervously, then cleared her throat. "Kanda?"

He did not reply, nor did he break his stride. It was almost as if he was willfully ignoring her.

"Where are you taking me?"

If he had heard, he showed no sign of it.

She wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, stop him and ask him where he was taking her. But she did not dare.

She was already regretting creeping up on him thus; he was jumpy — they both were — after their run-in with Road, which had almost — should have — ended in disaster. She had been a fool to think that he would not notice, when stealth was his element.

The corridor split into two. He turned left without any hesitation, then left again at the next crossroad.

The niggling suspicion that she might already know where he was taking her flitted around the back of her mind.

And then he stopped in front of a familiar door, and Allen knew that she had guessed right.

"Get in," Kanda said evenly. She hastened to obey.

It had been a while since she was here last, but it would seem as if nothing had changed. His room was still spartan. Where her bed had been, before she had been given her own room, was an empty space, all the more conspicuous for its lack.

There came the sound of rustling fabric, directly behind her. "Kanda—" she started, made to turn around, but the sudden feeling of cold steel pressed against her neck stopped her short.

Her eyes widened. Her breathing quickened. She dropped her hand to her side, and the blanket slipped off her shoulders, to land on the floor in a rumpled heap between their legs.

The only sound to be heard was their breathing.

"What did you hear?" His voice was dangerously soft. It made all the hairs on her skin rise, from her arms all the way up to the nape of her neck.

"Kanda?" Her voice trembled. The blade, perilously sharp, whispered against her flesh, its tip parallel to her carotid artery. If she moved, even the slightest fraction, she would bleed.

He was standing directly behind her, so close that she could feel his breath, deliberately measured, warm against her skin. His hair tickled where it brushed against her neck.

"I won't be repeating myself," he said.

"Nothing," she replied, forcing herself to take shallow, even breaths. "I didn't manage to get in close enough to discern what you were saying. But I would recognize your voice anywhere."

And it was true. All those nights in those first months, nightmares after nightmares, the contents of which would fade into mist when she woke up, leaving her with nothing but the salty taste of tears on her lips... His voice had been the only constant, the only anchor she would grab onto to haul herself up, away from the ghosts in her head, towards the light at the end of the tunnel that heralded reality.

Of course, that was before Lenalee had procured the sleeping draught that would, finally, after so many others had failed, keep her nightmares at bay. But she did not think she could ever forget.

He did not lower the knife. For a moment, she thought he was truly going to go through with it.

And then his breath hitched, an almost inaudible sound that she would have missed had she not been standing so close to him, and the knife fell from his fingers. It landed with a metallic clang as the blade bounced off the hard marble floor to land a short ways away. It was getting hard to breathe; the air between them was stretched so thin that it felt almost suffocating.

He pushed her away none too gently, and she stumbled forward.

"Kanda?" she turned, dove-gray eyes wide with concern. He dropped his crutches onto the floor beside him, and sat down heavily on the bed. Buried his head in his hands. Did not reply.

She took a cautious step forward. When he did not look up, she took another, then another. Reappropriated the knife, as well as her blanket. Crossed the rest of the room soundlessly. Stopped in front of him, then held the knife out to him, handle first.

"You dropped your weapon." Her voice was still shaky, as she pulled the blanket close around her shoulders once more.

When he did not respond, she swallowed, then placed it carefully on the bed beside him.

"For what it is worth, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

She knew that he understood exactly what she was referring to.

She left the room, pulled the door gently shut behind her. The mechanism caught as the door clicked shut, a note of finality.

* * *

He remembered, that night he had found her, almost two years ago. It had been winter, on a night so cold that his breath came out in puffs of spinning white, suspended in the air like tendrils of smoke. He had been on his way back from a mission when he spotted the crumpled heap, stark beneath the light of the full moon, a blemish marring the pristine, all-encompassing white of the landscape.

She had been a waif of a girl, with greasy white hair which clung to her nape and bangs that stuck out in all angles. Desperate grey eyes, too wide for her pale face. Her fingernails, caked with dirt, dug into his arm, drawing blood.

 _I can't remember. I can't remember anything._

The only thing she had was her name.

He had dragged her all the way back to the Order, where the infirmary had taken her in, put her in clothes too large for her, and laid her on bed sheets reminiscent of the white he had found her lying on.

Her lifeless, unblinking gray eyes had looked straight through him, made his skin crawl. She was a porcelain doll, pale eyes and paler skin, that promised to shatter and fold under the lightest touch.

There was nobody behind that gaze.

The first thing he had done had been to go to Komui's office. _She's not my fucking problem. Foist her off on someone else._

Fucking general responded to his frustration by throwing her into his room, thrusting her into his care as his apprentice. He still resented him for that.

The first few months had been the worst. Nightmares after nightmares, night after night. The shadows under his eyes were twin to her own. Thrashing violently in her bed, fists knotted up in the blankets. Some nights he had had to hold her down, to prevent her from hurting herself.

 _Wake up!_

Dead, dead eyes, blank and glassy. Not even a spark of recognition.

 _We are operatives, working for the Black Order._

Everyone in London knew what the Black Order stood for. Merciless cruelty. A shadowy syndicate that struck back against its enemies, and which struck hard.

Mafia stronghold.

 _My name is Kanda Yuu._

A mute doll, staring through him. Skin cold and clammy to the touch.

 _Your name is Allen Walker._

It took months. Months for her to feel safe enough in her own skin in the Order, months before the nightmares slowly ceased, as if she had weaned herself off them.

As it turned out, to everyone's surprise, Allen was gifted. Extraordinarily gifted. She was agile, light-footed, and eager to learn. Kanda had been pleasantly surprised when he had handed her a knife, and almost lost an eye in return.

They moved from knives to grappling, and finally, to guns.

That last bit had been hard. Ridiculously hard. Kanda refused to touch a gun. Allen pushed. Kanda refused to tell her shit. Allen peppered him with questions, then attempted to force a gun into his hand. Kanda would tell her that it was none of her goddamn business. Allen would reply, tersely, voice dripping with sarcasm, that she was his business.

Those days, their training sessions ended in screaming matches more often than not. Order personnel from the other end of the hall would hear and know to keep away from that part of the building. Once Kanda had even stormed into Komui's office, almost ripping the door off its hinges with the force of his rage, and stuck his knife into his desk, narrowly missing the general's fingers.

The desk would never be the same again.

Eventually, miraculously, they made it past that stage, due in no small part to her affinity for guns. The loose-limbed comfort they brought her, the pistol grips slipping gloriously into her gloved palms as if they had been made to fit. They afforded her a freedom that she did not previously have, not with knives, and not with grappling. Not least to the degree that Lavi and Lenalee specialised in, anyway.

After months of training together, Kanda had deemed her fit for active combat. He had marched her down to Komui's office, and demanded that he cut him loose of his obligation to her.

As if in retaliation for his ruined desk, Komui had assigned her to him as his official partner for future missions, then cheerfully ordered them to get along.

Allen had had to hold him back from inflicting grievous bodily harm.

Lavi had cornered him once, his expression carefully blank, his green eyes solemn.

 _Was it worth it?_

He had deigned not to reply, choosing instead to shove the redhead off of him. And in that moment, he knew, as well as the redhead did, what his answer was.

 _Yes. Yes, it was._


	6. Chapter 5: Hiraeth

**Author's Note: I'M BACK. AND WITH A NEW CHAPTER TO BOOT, ISN'T THIS GREAT XD**

 **I'm sorry this comes so late! Life got in the way Dx I'll do my best to update faster in future! In the meantime, if anyone has any critique, I'd love to hear them. Also, the latest manga chapter. Oh my gosh. My heart can't take this any longer. "Saying Goodbye to A.W"? Seriously? *cries***

Chapter 5: Hiraeth

 _Voices. The screeching of tyres on ice as the car spun out of control. Blood filling her vision. White noise, punctuated by blood-curdling screams._

 _"Mana!"_

Her dreams would not leave her to rest. And so she would not sleep.

* * *

"The two of you will be working together for this mission," Komui said in a tone of voice that could only be described as gleeful with abandon, too cheery for the hour of the day. He winked at them, raised his cup in mock salute, and brought it to his lips. The expected sound of sipping did not come.

Lavi looked confused. Allen raised a sardonic eyebrow.

A lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll on her. Her brain felt as if it had been stuffed full of cotton, impeding normal, coherent thought processing. It also made her less charitable, and more inclined to maim when provoked. She had clearly been spending too much time with Kanda, if his mannerisms were rubbing off on her.

"It's gone," Komui mourned piteously, tilting the cup over in demonstration.

Allen had to resist the urge to roll her eyes to the heavens.

Sometimes, she thought she could understand Kanda's murderous impulses. She was beginning to feel the urge to slice Komui up, a little here and a little there, maybe start off by wiping that vacuous expression off his face. She had to be careful not to go too far; after all, he was still the general. It promised to be immensely satisfying regardless.

"Uh, Komui?" Lavi sounded as confused as she was. "I can understand why Kanda isn't paired up with Allen for the mission, but Lenalee's my partner. Why not leave it to us to handle this mission?"

"Well," Komui simpered, and the sound of it pushed Allen closer to murderous, "completion of this mission requires both technique and brute force. Your strengths complement each other. Plus, it helps keep the formula fresh. Every now and then it's prudent to switch things up a little, keep the enemy on their toes, you know?"

In other words, Komui was bored, and this was somehow exciting enough to whet his appetite. It must be an acquired taste, Allen reasoned, as Lavi protested and gesticulated, his motions getting increasingly hysterical with time.

She began sifting through what she knew of the redhead, which admittedly, was not much. Training consistently with one partner meant aligning her style with his, playing to his strengths and making up some of the slack for his weaknesses, falling into step beside each other so seamlessly that they melded together, two halves of a whole. Fortunately, Kanda was an extremely competent partner. Unfortunately, his attitude was a completely different story, but Allen supposed no one was perfect. She did not have to like him to be able to work with him, and she had no qualms about shoving back when pushed too far.

Apparently that meant something to Kanda, and while she would probably never understand what motivated him to say or do the things he did, amicable Kanda was much easier to work with than normal, irascible Kanda.

And Allen believed in taking whatever she could get.

But Kanda and Lavi were different people, with wildly disparate dispositions. None of what she knew about her mentor would be of help when it came to working with the redhead. And while she saw him as a friend — if somewhat distant — and someone she had come to trust, she knew next to nothing about the way he fought.

Ultimately, Lavi was no match for the general, and Allen was too weary to press her case. Both of them were hustled out of the office without ceremony.

It was incredibly awkward. Allen could not bear the eye contact — Kanda's gaze was equally intense, but never probing — and she had nothing to say to him in the capacity of work.

"Well," Lavi said, "I suppose we could start by getting to know each other."

* * *

"Lenalee." Allen rapped her knuckles against the door. "It's me. May I come in?"

An answering grunt of affirmation came from within, and Allen took it upon herself to reach for the doorknob. Then she pushed and the door swung inwards, only to reveal the long-haired girl seated within.

As always, a plain hair tie had been used to keep the long, wavy chestnut locks out of her eyes and up in a high ponytail. Gentle hazel eyes, lightly shaded and framed by long lashes, radiated calm and solace. They always seemed to set Allen at ease.

"How have you been?" Lenalee beckoned her forward with one hand, and patted the spot on the bed beside her. Allen was only too glad to oblige.

It had been a long day, and it was barely noon.

"Fine." Allen gave her a weary laugh, hands instinctively going to her neck.

 _Kanda at her back, Kanda's breath tantalizingly warm against her skin, playing with the hairs on the nape of her neck._

It would be a while yet before she stopped feeling the icy touch of the phantom blade on her flesh, poised and ready for the kill.

Lenalee hummed a soft sound of acknowledgement. Blinked once, twice. A light crease nestled itself between her eyebrows. "Your eyes are puffy. Have you not been sleeping well?"

"Not very, I'm afraid," Allen confessed. "But it'll pass, I'm sure. Don't worry about me."

"So you say," Lenalee huffed. Then she stood up, walked to the back of the room, and pulled open one of the many identical cabinets. Mumbling under her breath, she rummaged through it as if in search of something specific.

She paused, then withdrew something. "Aha!"

Lenalee was beaming now, looking immensely pleased with herself. Allen squinted. There was a small package in her hands.

"Here you go," she said, stopping in front of her, depositing it gently in her lap.

"Ah, thank you. May I know what this is?" Allen asked, perplexed.

"Your sleeping draught. I knew you would be out by now, so I took the liberty of putting together a new batch for you. But you never came to pick it up." She smiled good-naturedly.

Allen was touched. She had wanted to try going without, because she knew that it was not a permanent solution, but it was not working. Perhaps she would do better if she weaned herself off it slowly. "Thank you."

Lord knew her nightmares were back in force. It was almost as if by shutting them out, swapping her dreams for gray lull, she had only delayed the inevitable—

She caught herself, shook her head to banish that train of thought. Now was not the time. She had more pressing concerns.

It was not easy. She was a volatile mix of angry and guilty, confused and shatteringly conflicted. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails bit into her palms, marking her skin with bloody crescents.

Lenalee was going to turn her down, she knew, and with good reason. But she had promised herself that she would try. "I don't suppose you would have anything that would speed up healing?"

Lenalee turned, looked at her sharply. Allen flinched, and began fidgeting with the buttons on her shirt.

"You're asking for Kanda, aren't you?"

Allen flushed, lowered her gaze onto her hands in her lap, feeling shame wash over her, "Well... It's just, you seem to be very knowledgeable about medicines and healing. You're always helping to administer basic first aid. And then there's the sleeping draught—"

Soft, mirthful laughter came from beside her. It was unexpected. Allen looked up, astonished.

A hand laid itself gently on her head. "You really do care about him, don't you?"

 _Kanda charging into the room. Dropping into a roll just as the man guarding the door commenced shooting at him._

 _His body flowing through the motions like water. Palming a knife, then letting it fly with deadly force and accuracy._

Any ground she might have gained on the conflict roiling within herself disintegrated, and she was once again a withering, hollowed husk.

"I had told him that I didn't need protecting anymore, but I was wrong. It's my fault that he got hurt," she whispered to her hands.

The taller girl wrapped her arms around her, pulled her into an embrace.

Allen shuddered at her touch, and pressed closer to the girl.

"Were you the one who had shot at him?" Lenalee murmured into her hair.

"No," Allen demurred, knowing what was coming.

"Then it's not your fault. He has autonomy over his own decisions. And he chose to go after you." Lenalee's gaze was distant, lost in time. "He was beside himself when he heard that you had been sent out alone. I've never seen him so angry with Komui before."

"I couldn't even help. All I could do was watch." Allen was tired of feeling helpless.

Long, slender fingers carded through her hair gently. "We all have times like that. There's no shame in admitting to needing help."

"I want to help him," she confessed. "I want him to be able to trust me."

Months after months of frayed tempers, of hurling insults and throwing unmitigated punches at each other. No holds barred. Nothing was sacred.

 _Kanda glowering, slapping her hand away, stooping to pick up the knife himself. Beautiful, deadly Kanda, his blue, blue eyes a relentless storm, muscles drawn taut to the point of breaking. She had hesitated, before trying once more to reach out to him. He brushed her off with a snarl, and issued his ultimatum, "Gunmen have no business touching knives that do not belong to them."_

Despite themselves, they had somehow managed to foster some semblance of a working relationship, based on exigency and mutual antagonism, but the crux of the problem had remained fundamentally unchanged.

"You have. And he does. Kanda's never been the best at articulating how he feels. But his actions speak for themselves."

She was not wrong. Kanda was bullish, with all of the social graces of a puffer fish. Included in his arsenal were barbs, spines, and poison in spades for anyone who ventured too close. His favourite "I hate you", which was up there with his constant promises to leave her behind if she fell too far behind.

But. He had never once acted on his threats. His hands had remained gentle, even through the furious set of his face, rage given form in his steely gaze.

 _Dancing between opponents, light-footed, swift and sure, with none of her hesitation and wasted movements._

Whenever she had needed him, he had come, and held down the fort until she got herself together. Always, always.

"He wants to protect you, as much as you want to do the same for him. I think I understand now." Lenalee was smiling. "You fight so often because you're so alike."

"We are not alike," Allen sniped, with feeling.

Lenalee beamed.

Allen scowled.

And then Lenalee's gaze softened, and she took to stroking Allen's hair. "Regardless. Kanda is quick to anger, and while it tends to be spectacular, it's rooted in the present. Whatever misgivings he has, whatever transgressions you may have committed, he would have forgotten them by now. So don't you worry about that."

Allen knew this, of course. Allen had known that he would not hold it against her. But he should have. That was the whole point.

One stroke. Two. Allen began to relax in her hold, just as Lenalee's gaze dimmed, and her expression took on a troubled, apologetic cast. "I can't give you what you seek. I'm sorry, but unless he comes to me himself, I can't help."

And Kanda never would, on principle. _I can't trust what I don't understand._ It was the first thing about him that Allen had understood.

She sighed. "Don't be. You refused with good reason. I'm sorry I asked."

"Well, if there is anything else that I can help with..."

"... There _is_ something else that I need your help with, I suppose."

* * *

It had been a while since she had last willingly stayed up so late.

The corridor was silent, save for the soft clicking of her heels against the white marble, and the light rustling of her clothes.

The scene before her seemed like a sequence out of a dream. Vaulted ceilings, gently curved, arching above her reach. Traceries trimmed with gold, and doused in silver. Moonlight streaming in through the windows, slipping through her fingers like silk, picking out the colours where it hit the stained glass, muting the rest of the untouched expense. The wind testing its grip, finding purchase, sliding in soundlessly through the cracks in the glass, cognizant and playful. Living tendrils peppering her face with butterfly kisses, swirling through her hair, cool against her exposed skin. A lullaby, calming rhythm, soothing loss.

She drank it all in. The serenity to be held in stillness. Life frozen between motions. Her footsteps buoyant, her arms free, her shoulders light. The earth slumbering beneath her feet.

It felt like peace. It felt like the night she had, long ago, standing under the watchful gaze of the moon and wishing she could reach out and touch the stars.

 _I don't know who I am,_ she thought, unbidden.

No possessions from before, no memories save for that of falling. Wanderer. Dream child. Nothing she could call her own, not even secrets, not even a name that she could tease with her tongue, a familiar shape she could hold between her lips.

Something prickled in her eyes, and her vision misted over. Angrily, she dashed the tears away.

 _Eyes like jewels, midnight hair. Kind hands, even when tipped with steel, her life cradled carefully in its hold._

She had never told Kanda, because it had seemed too close, too personal somehow. Within her was an angry child with sharp eyes and grubby paws, holding close to her all the scraps that she was spared. Was it selfish, to want something she could call her own so much that it manifested as a physical ache?

Her feet traced a familiar circular route, through empty hallways, past the canteen where they took their meals, into the infirmary she had just been released from. Her stomach dropped. Her palms were clammy with a sheen of cold sweat. It was as if, by crossing the invisible threshold, she had fallen off the edge of her earth, into an unfamiliar world.

She advanced. She stopped. She lifted her hands and pressed them to the door before her, eyed the grains and whorls in the wood, and traced the smooth lacquer with her fingertips. She pushed. It gave.

She entered the room.

High cheekbones, the gentle incline of his nose, the almost aristocratic cut of his features. Long, dark hair fanned out on the pillow around him like a halo, almost as long as her own.

Asleep, sedated, Kanda seemed more at peace than he had ever been while awake.

She sank into the chair by his bedside, her head bowed, her breath caught in her throat. All of her words fled her. She did not know what to say.

She leaned in close. Traced the line of his jaw with her eyes, stroked his hair with a wondering finger. Blue-black locks fisted in her hand.

"I had breakfast with Lavi today. It was a catastrophe. He talked too much, and I had to shove my fist into my mouth because I did not want to be rude."

Hesitant pause.

"I've never wanted to be like you."

Fished for something else to say.

"Komui was a complete ass."

And then.

"I'm leaving on a mission. With Lavi. Tomorrow."

A mournful keening, the cry of a caged bird which knew what it was like to fly. Something corrosive welled up within her, before it spilled forth like tendrils of smoke.

"I missed you. I'm sorry I haven't visited, in all the time you were here."

Lenalee might have a point when she had made the offhand comment that Allen and Kanda were alike. Ancestors knew she was bad with words, too.

"I did this to you." Stabbing grief, so sharp that it cut. Regret palpable in her words, thick and choking. "I'm sorry there's nothing I can do to make this easier on you."

 _I know that I'm not what you wanted. But you tried your hardest with me. I'm sorry I have so little of value to offer in return._

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry._ It was all she could offer, and it fucking figures that it would be such a pitiful substitute.

"I was discharged a few days back." Her tongue was heavy, the words clumsy, and she knew that she was going to regret her decision in the cold light of the morning. But she went ahead anyway, because more than an apology, he deserved the truth. "But I'd much rather be here. You wouldn't mind if I stayed for a while, would you?"

She did not wait for a reply. "Thank you." She leaned forward until she was touching the bed, pillowed her head on her arms, and closed her eyes in wait of dawn.

* * *

He woke in stages.

The inside of his eyelids were steeped in brilliant red, courtesy of the sunlight.

The bed sheets, freshly laundered, were soft and yielding under his hands.

His eyelashes fluttered. He opened his eyes.

White hair greeted him, filling his vision, spilling over onto his bed like sheets of moonlight. He took a lock of hair and pinched it between two fingers. It was softer than he had imagined it would be.

Allen stirred, and he let it go.

"Kanda?" She raised her head from her arms, eyes still cloudy with sleep.

"Good morning." His voice was mild.

He watched as she blinked, sat up straighter.

She looked lost, as though she had been unmoored and left to drift in circles in the sea. Slouched in her seat, hunched before his bed, her hands clasped and her face pinched. Her body language was subdued, her aura flayed open and raw. She had the look of someone indicted for perjury, seeking penance.

It was a feeling he knew only too well, and it irritated him to no end. So he flicked her forehead.

"Ouch! What was that for?" she yelped, indignant.

"What's with that face?" he sniped, "You look stupid."

"You —You're impossible!" she cried out, aggrieved.

Unfortunately for her, he took pride in being aggravating.

"About time you realised." Lapis lazuli eyes glittered with dark satisfaction.

She looked as if she wanted to respond. Visibly gave up and deflated, guilt colouring her cheeks.

It was unsettling.

"Oi. What's wrong?" he asked. Not too gruff, because his idiot apprentice had an annoying tendency to go soft, like a balloon losing air, whenever she felt the need to get sentimental or emotional. And whenever she decided to indulge in her emotions, she also became a little more breakable.

He did not want to break her.

"I'm sorry," she wrapped her arms around herself and hunkered down in the chair, as if she was trying to shrink into herself.

"Oi," he tried again, but she interrupted, running over his words with all of the grace of a freight train.

"I should have waited. I should have asked for your advice. I didn't.

"You were right. I wasn't ready. But I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to show you that you could trust me to handle things on my own. To be of help to you."

"I—" she faltered, as Kanda's hand, larger than her own, tugged at her fingers and pulled them into his hold.

"You're too noisy. Shut up for a moment. I have things that I want to say. I need to think of a way to say them," he griped, "and I can't do it with you shooting your mouth off."

Her hand was warm. He could feel the calluses on her palm, made rough and thick from constant, repetitive training. His thumb rubbed lazy circles on her skin, an approximation of what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Her vision misted over and she shuddered, breaths shaky, as if she was trying her utmost to stifle an obscene urge to cry.

"Firstly." He spoke slowly, carefully mulling over his word choices. He did not have many options. "It was wrong of me to threaten you. I heard you outside the storeroom, and I overreacted."

And then he grimaced, a constipated look crossing his face, his features creasing. It was almost physically painful for him to spit out the rest of what he wanted to say. "You're obnoxious, and a constant pain in the ass, especially when you start moping like this. But I suppose in this case it means that you've finally grown a spine. That's not a bad thing."

She blinked slowly, as if astonished. Once, twice. Still so slow, same old. "I never thought I'd say this," she sent him a watery smile, eyes too bright, "but you're too kind, Kanda. You could stand to be a little less forgiving."

It was fucking ridiculous.

"You make it sound as if I'm dying, and as if, by some mad flight of fancy, you could make it up to me," he accused. "Fucking drop it. I'm not going to die."

She could not help it; she laughed. The warm sound curled in his belly, made his skin shiver where she was touching him. Unfamiliar though it was, the sensation was not entirely unpleasant.

"And stop laughing," he snapped, because he had always hated it when people laughed at his expense. "Fucking redhead alone gives me enough grief, I don't need you hopping onto the bandwagon too. Jesus Christ."

"Thank you." She smiled, so radiant and pure that it stole his breath, and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms so tightly around him that it almost felt like a stranglehold.

He yelled indignantly, because he needed to make his displeasure known somehow. But he did not try to push her away.

When she finally released him, he sniped, because the silence would be too awkward otherwise, and because he was feeling vindictive, "Do that again, and you'll find yourself short of a hand."

She grinned. "Snowball's chance in hell."

* * *

 _Komui's office was draped in darkness._

 _A shadowy figure flitted from fixture to fixture. Pulling open the cabinets. Nothing to be found._

 _The desk was next. Groping, searching through the files on the table._

 _Nothing, nothing, nothing._

 _Faster, faster. There isn't enough time._

 _Drawers. Empty, empty —_

 _An experimental tug. The last drawer shifted forward the slightest fraction. Came to a sudden stop. Would not budge._

 _Locked then. Not that it mattered._

 _Fumbled. Jangling. Metal pick gleaming like a sharp tooth under the light of the moon._

 _Manila folders?_

 _Fingers picked up the first in the pile, held it up to the scant silver rays shining through the blinds._

 _Not what was on the agenda, but useful, regardless._

 _The wheels of divine providence had begun to turn, cog by cog, gears interlocking and clicking as the individual pieces shifted into place._

 _It was time to begin._


	7. Chapter 6: Sublime and a Fortress

Chapter 6: Sublime and a Fortress

"General Komui? You called for me?"

It felt almost surreal, as if she was being submerged in water. Muted sounds drifted in sluggishly from outside the office. Paperwork was strewn all over the floor. _Not there._ Watery autumnal sunlight streamed in through the blinds, painting the table a warm mellow gold, picking out the gradients in the wood. _Not there._

The general was standing in front of the window overlooking the courtyard, his back to her. _There._

"Close the door," he said.

Lenalee swallowed, and complied. She nudged the jammer away from the threshold, watched as it swung shut, cutting her off from the rest of the Order.

She had never been to the office on her own. But Lavi was not here to accompany her.

In his stead, she had found a note. _Gone on a mission with Allen. Komui said it was urgent, and that it is imperative that we leave without telling anyone, so I couldn't say goodbye. Please don't worry. I'll see you in a few days._

To her knowledge, there had been no missions scheduled for execution come that morning.

Her hands shook. She hid them between the folds of her dress.

"What do you know of Road?" Komui asked, hands clasped behind his back, still facing away from her.

She frowned in consternation. "I'm not quite sure I understand, General. I'm not the one who's had run-ins with her. Allen would know best."

"Yes," the general replied, "Allen has run into her thrice now, hasn't she? The first two times, after she was separated from the rest of the team. And most recently, on her first solo mission."

The floor dropped out of reach from beneath her feet.

Unexpectedly, unbelievably, he chose not to pursue the line of thought, opting instead to change the topic.

"What do you understand about the Order, Lenalee?"

He could be alluding to anything. Her muscles stiffened, tense, adrenaline shooting through her.

When she spoke, her voice came out level, radiating a calm she did not feel. "I know as much as the rest. I know that we operate mostly in London, though our dealings sometimes take us beyond. Our influence in the area is second to none, unchallenged by any save for the Noahs."

"You're absolutely correct," he said, "and what of our operatives?"

The inside of her mouth felt dry as dust. "Every operative has a specialisation. Guns, blades, or grappling. They start off as an apprentice, and graduate when they are deemed combat ready by their mentor. Thereafter, they are assigned a partner according to their fitness, preferred fighting style, strengths and weaknesses. Together they would undertake missions, and are sworn to secrecy on mission details."

The inevitable conclusion, "Any and all traitors are sentenced to death."

At this, he finally turned around, and the smile on his face sent chills down her spine. Eyes like chips of obsidian. A jagged slash of a smile, cold and calculating.

And Lenalee knew what this was about.

"Weeks ago, I found my desk out of order. Nothing major, of course, but enough to be strange, so I decided to check the cameras. There was nothing out of the ordinary that would have caused the discrepancy, and the lack thereof intrigued me. So I decided to rig up a trap."

Her blood froze in her veins.

"It took a bit of finagling, but eventually I figured out what the intruder was after. Out of our four most valuable operatives, the dossiers addressed to Kanda and you were left untouched. The preliminary research folder delineating a mission meant for Allen was doctored. Lavi's mission folder was tampered with, but only with regards to the departure time, so that it would coincide with Allen's mission. I must admit, I'm curious. What do you think is his or her endgame?"

"You already know. You must, if you've gotten so far. Why let it drag out for so long, if you already knew what it was going to culminate in?" Her gaze, flinty and resolute, a final stand, latched onto his face.

"Curiosity, I suppose," he mused. "I don't know everything. I'd like to be sure, but mostly, I just wanted to know why. What does Road want with Allen? Barring that, I'd like to know who's pulling the strings behind the scenes."

 _Dark eyes smothering like coal. Fingernails digging into the skin of her arms, drawing blood, marking her with bloody crescents._

 _Bring her home._ The three words that echoed through the dreamscapes of her mind every night.

Briefly, she considered her options. Komui was the general, but to the best of her knowledge, he had never demonstrated any sort of competence in combat. She had her brass knuckles on her person, and few in the Order could stand up to her if she really wanted out. Two of them were out on a mission, and the third was recuperating in the infirmary.

Komui was smiling, still smiling, almost serene, entirely relaxed. It was disconcerting. It was wrong.

Her eyes flew wide open.

 _No, it can't be —_

The tip of something cold, wickedly sharp, dug into her back, stealing the breath from within her lungs.

"I suggest you hold still," Kanda said flatly, "because I can't promise that it won't hurt."

* * *

The rooms in the basement were unfurnished, save for a thin mattress balanced on wooden slats. The tiles were cold beneath her feet. The room they had ended up in was draughty; the windows would not close properly.

The handcuffs were tight, wrapped as they were around her wrist, trailing chains that were fastened to the floor. Kanda sat cross-legged a distance away from her, with his back against the closed door. His gaze impassive, his expression terrifyingly blank.

"I see you've gotten much better. You don't even need the crutches anymore."

Slow breaths for calm.

"I'm sorry it came to this," she said.

Her words shrivelled up on her tongue.

 _Kanda Yuu,_ she found herself thinking, trying to reconcile words typed on paper in a file with the person before her eyes, _an operative under the Black Order. Has served under Komui Lee for ten years._

 _A mission gone wrong, which left his partner critically wounded. All evidence indicated that he administrated the final blow._ A bullet to the head. Invariably fatal.

There was nothing of the person in that clinical, foregone conclusion.

"My primary mission, " – her words, barely above a whisper, filled the space between them – "is to find out who the Order's sponsor is."

She stared into blank eyes, which stared back at her. Dead and flat.

"Ten years ago, nobody had heard of the Black Order. Unorganised and negligible, run by a ragtag bunch of ruffians and wannabes. On the other hand, the Noahs had a monopoly on everything that went down in underworld London. Everyone cowered in their shadow. No one could stand up to them.

"But that changed almost overnight. The Order gained funds, and more importantly, influence through connections. They rose out of obscurity, ascended through the ranks of the underworld, and quickly became a force to be reckoned with. The only conceivable threat to the Noahs' authority, as things stand now.

"I was to find out who that sponsor could be, how and why."

Dark blue eyes, whirlpools of empty desolation. There was a spark now, a whisper of presence, and relief suffused through her person.

"Why are you telling me this?" Kanda's voice was a low baritone.

She swallowed.

"I'm tired of secrets. I've always wanted to tell someone," she said. "I just never thought that that someone would be you."

His gaze sharpened. She was wildly, profoundly glad for that.

"There's nothing I can give you in return," he returned, his gaze fixed on the plaster behind her, his voice distant, "even if I do have the answers you seek."

Quiet. Drowning in void.

"It's Lavi, isn't it?" Her voice came out, the words tugging painfully on her heart strings, barely above a whisper. "Supposed heir to Bookman Management, the only competitor Enja Holdings ever had that was able to match them on equal footing. Enja Holdings is one of our largest backers and sponsors; they hired us to execute the kill order for the director and his family, but apparently, we weren't thorough enough. And then he came to you, with a request for refuge and a proposal."

"Why do you ask, then, if you already knew?" Her words had touched something in him, whipped him into a frenzy. Irate ultramarine eyes held her own, anger burning in their depths.

"I didn't know for sure. I had my suspicions, and I could make educated guesses. But when I went snooping and saw the preliminary research Lavi did on Azra Imports, I was absolutely sure. Who else would be influential enough to dictate the missions that should be undertaken?"

The air felt stale, almost too heavy under the debilitating silence.

"I know you don't care very much for me," – she spoke on an exhale, low and rough – "and it probably sounds rich, coming from me, but please listen when I say this. Don't trust Komui Lee."

He did not respond. So she took to filling the silence when the sound of her own voice. "You were in the room with us the whole time. You heard. Missions are rotated between operatives, and I knew that Allen was due for her first individual mission. He left Lavi's preliminary research papers there for me to find. So I doctored the file; I removed all mention of Enja Holdings, in order to make it look like a routine individual mission. He went along, assigning the mission to Allen alone, letting her walk into it without so much as a warning because he wanted to know what would happen if he did. If you hadn't insisted on going after her, Road would have had her."

She stopped. Squared her shoulders. "I changed the departure time on Lavi's file, too, made certain that he wouldn't get back until after Allen left, so that he wouldn't be around to tip you guys off. Komui knew all of this, and he didn't say anything. I'm not implying that he doesn't care. But letting your guard down around him would be unwise."

"I already know all of that." Kanda spoke up a second time, hissing through clenched teeth. "But there's nothing for it. What would you have me do?"

He did not want to hear what she had to say. She supposed that was fair, because she did not want to hear herself speak either.

They were never all that close. But he had helped to look out for her, whenever Lavi was not in a position to do so. He was a friend, and a good one.

 _I don't want you to get hurt_ hung unsaid in the air, too close to the heart and too painful to give voice to.

He blinked, as if he had heard. When he spoke again, it was in a slow and deliberate tone. "You and Allen. Both cut from the same cloth. Same brand of stupidity."

The way he said it made it sound so absurd that she had to laugh.

And then, because she was a dead person anyway, and dead people had no use for secrets, "Allen's nightmares never really stopped. I'm the one who's been supplying her with the draught that keeps them at bay, but once she stops taking them, they'll come back in full force. You should be prepared for that."

He stilled, and she knew that it was the wrong thing to say.

"Did you not know?" Her voice was small, her words riding the barest gust of air out of her throat.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and knew that no matter how much she repeated them, they would never be enough, "I didn't know. I thought Allen would have told you."

"I don't care," he snapped.

 _You do,_ she wanted to say, but she did not think that she could bring herself to inflict the sort of pain that revelation would bring.

The only thing that she could keep doing was to talk.

"I suspect her nightmares were not nightmares anyway, not in the traditional sense."

 _Night after night spent poring over files for information, talking, scheming. Training with fists and brute force. Candles burning down to stubs of wax, one for each night, because it was too risky to switch on the lights._

She closed her fists around air, and not for the first time, wished for the power to stop time. She had never wanted to betray the people she loved, on both sides, but wretched thing she was, it was all she was good for.

In her head, she could see the waves of her childhood, the only thing she remembered from before she surrendered everything she was to the war that would become her be-all and end-all. Sand slipping through her fingers, almost phantasmagorical; the sound of the ocean roaring in her ears. The water bearing towards her, sweeping away all traces of her footsteps. She let go, and it caught her, snatched her off the shore.

"That girl. She's a child of the house of Noah, cast out and left for dead." The words fell from her lips, unbidden, and try as she might, she would never be able to take them back. "Road did everything in her power to make sure that I was the one the higher-ups entrusted the mission to, because she knew she could trust me. That was my real mission. I came to bring her back."

* * *

Kanda could not think, could not see, could not breathe.

He should not be taking her words at face value. He should be holding them in contempt, stripping them apart, in search for the nugget of truth that must have been hidden amidst a flotsam of lies.

But the raw vulnerability in her face echoed the hole in his heart, and he wanted to trust her.

"Would you? If you could." He could not bear the desolation in his voice.

"I would have. I almost succeeded, as it was," she said in all honesty. "But trust me when I say that I would be very, very sorry if I did."

Finally, finally, she fell blessedly silent, as if she had been carved hollow, and there was nothing left to speak with.

 _Alma's voice, Alma's eyes. Too bright, too warm. Blood, blooming like lilies on his shirt, falling in sheets like rain, soaking through Kanda's shirt and into the pores of his skin._ A damning stain that would never wash out.

 _I don't want to die,_ his best friend — his only friend — had said, and the words had echoed in his ears. The ghosts of his past, which would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.

But Allen was still alive. Wonderfully alive.

No matter what else he had done, whatever he had asked of him, Allen had been Komui's gift to him. _A second chance._ He could not bring himself to hate him.

"I don't want her to go," he confessed.

"You won't be able to stop her." She pitched her voice lower, a guttural sound.

"I don't think I can keep her from anything she wants to do." It was a difficult thing to admit to.

It worked. Lenalee cracked a smile.

 _Help me._ Komui's eyes were haunted, his voice hollow. _I know it's too much to ask of you. But it's not something that I can ask of Lavi._

"For the record, I don't blame you for what you have to do. I knew, from the start, what would happen if I was found out. I chose to undertake this mission anyway. I'm just glad that it's you."

"Why? Because I'm the only alternative you have, besides Lavi?"

It was only half a lie. Lavi would have refused. Lavi would have raged, and in his rage was the power to lay waste upon the Order, bring them down to their knees. He was their salvation, but a double-edged one. Komui would not, could not have risked it. Lavi was never an option.

"Because you're you. You're a good person, and what happened to you was a travesty. But it means that you understand, and that I can trust you to make it quick and painless." All of the spoken and unspoken words. Shaking to his core. Falling apart.

That was the problem Kanda had with words. Transient, intangible, formless, seamless. It was the quintessential weapon, a devastating one, one could not hope to defend himself against when better men have tried and failed. It lodged between his ribs like an arrowhead, dredging open old injuries and reawakening an ache so deep that it hurt. He had thought that he had buried that part of himself with Alma, on the outskirts of that lonely town beneath the sky. He had thought wrong.

His legs shook with the effort of holding him up. He staggered over, step by halting step, before dropping to all fours by her side.

He had been stupid, so stupid. Her answers had been restitution for her perceived crime, and she had paid it in full. Now he was the one in debt, and he owed her this.

"Just... tell me one thing. Please," she looked so helpless, so lost, tugging at his sleeve, "How did you know it was me?"

She deserved an answer. "It wasn't just the names on the files that were doctored. There's also the dates when it happened, that night when you'd broken into his office. You were the only one who was around on all three nights. The rest of us were either on missions, or had an alibi."

She let out a sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I see. I really fucked up, didn't I?"

And then her shoulders began to shake, and the only thing he could do was to hold her, hoping that it would offer her a modicum of comfort.

"Tell me what to do," he whispered.

"I don't have to. You already know what to do." Her smile was shaky. A trail of silver slid down her cheek, tracing the contour of her jaw, falling to her chin.

He did. "It'll be easier if you don't watch." His breath hitched. The heft and shape of regret on his tongue, bitter and frayed around the edges, burning like ashes and firelight.

She closed her eyes. He reached for the knife in his pocket. It shook in his grip.

He hated working with blades. It made things too complicated. Too personal. It made it so much harder to kill somebody, because it meant that he had to bear witness as the life left their eyes, as their chest stilled, as their lifeblood leached out onto his hands. But it was his life now.

He had taken Alma's blades, hoping that it would make things easier. It had not.

"I'm sorry." His voice cracked, his words tumbling in and over themselves. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

His hand jerked as he drew the knife across her neck, and it felt like being flayed to the bone. A thin, jagged line of crimson trailed in its wake.

Her body slackened. Her head lolled to one side, ruby red spilling over the mattress like scattered jewels, winking in the sunlight.

His knife clattered where it fell to the floor.

"He told me that it allowed him to remember, and that that was something he could live for." His hand shook with his words, an unaccountable mess. "I tried. I tried my best, but I can't do it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Lost hope buried beneath a forbidden city. But it was not his due to lie to the dead.

 **Author's Note: And with this, ladies and gentlemen, the story shows its true colours XD *Is not sorry***

 **To be very honest, I had been looking forward to posting this chapter. It's the real turning point in this story really. Everything I've hinted at is finally, finally coming together in a way that makes sense XD**

 **There isn't much longer to go now; it's a straight shot from here on to the end. Brace yourselves! It's going to be a wild ride XD**


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